Bleed 'Em Dry
by An Inconvenient Arrival
Summary: Holmes has been called to the scene of a murder wherein a young girl has been found murdered. Upon inspection, Holmes discovers two small bite marks on the girl's neck which confirms that which has been haunting his dreams. A Vampire is now apparently loose in the streets of London. His next target, Molly Hooper. After that, not even the great Sherlock Holmes knows.
1. Chapter 1

**The Vampiric Mystery**

Chapter One: A Bite to Eat.

Several minutes had passed since they had arrived at the crime scene and still Holmes had not said a thing. Usually he would walk straight into a room, take a quick glance and make some quick-witted quip over the situation. This time however, he seemed rather perturbed. He was crouched over the body of the victim, a Miss Stella Flaherty of Dunbasin Road, and was closely inspecting every part of her naked form. Unlike the usual crackpots and psychopaths that they had to deal with in their line of work, this particular murder showed signs of premeditation and, what John loathingly referred to as, workmanship. The body had been stripped completely naked with the exception of a single crucifix dangling on a chain around the poor girl's neck. Her arms were spread slightly and her legs were opened and positioned carefully. She almost looked like a life-sized "Vitruvian Man" (or woman as the case may be). It had been many years since John had seen Sherlock Holmes, a man so brilliant that he had single-handedly solved the majority of the most difficult and mind boggling cases ever to grace the desks of Scotland Yard, look so confused and worried. Finally, after what felt like an hour, Holmes jumped to his feet, buttoned the top of his long trenchcoat and turned around.

"Well, I must say Lestrade; you have certainly got your work cut out for you this time. This" Holmes said, waving his hand in the general direction the girl, "_human_ seems to have no credible or visible signs of physical damage."

Lestrade, whom Holmes seemed to have a fondness for belittling so often, opened his mouth to speak before he was cut off once more by the bass tone of the greatest (and indeed only) Consulting Detective in the world.

"Don't even consider that she had been poisoned. I can detect no trace of any form of poison. Even potassium cyanide, one usually _so _effective in eluding the search efforts of your best men, is recognisable through its _ever _so sweet scent of almonds. This girl was not beaten nor shot nor poisoned nor was she strangled. It seems that we have a phantom murderer in London."

John Watson couldn't believe how good this man was. He was fast approaching forty years of age and he simply seemed to become more brilliant with each passing year. He was like an enormous book or a walking Wikipedia. He knew everything that he needed to know for his line of work. Unfortunately, this had led to him becoming an increasingly difficult individual to be around most of the time. In fact, if it weren't for the fact that Holmes had saved his life countless times, John would have jumped ship years ago. He shook his head and apologised for Holmes' sarcasm and tone for the millionth time before following Holmes out the door. Catching up to the tall frame of Sherlock Holmes, John Watson commenced his usual ritual of questioning Holmes over the multitudinous sea of information that he had taken from the crime.

"I'm afraid I must disappoint for once John. The only information that that girl's body gave to me was that our murderer was either a spectre or, much more likely the case, a vampire."

John Watson stopped and pulled Holmes back by the arm.

"I'm sorry, did you say vampire? _Vampire? _As in Count Dracula vampire? What in the world has you saying something so, so _fantastical_?"

Holmes huffed and jerked his arm from John's grip.

"How many times must I tell you not to grab me like that? Yes I said vampire, have you lost your ability to hear? The girl had two small pinhole sized marks just under her jaw on the left side of her neck. To the untrained eye, oh who am I fooling anymore, to any eye other than my own, this" He extracted a perfectly square, skin-coloured patch from his pocket "would have concealed the wound. I myself only found it because it held in the girl's final drops of perspiration which caught the light ever so faintly. The marks were approximately a centimetre and a half apart and were perfectly bored, meaning no ordinary human canine teeth could have been the cause. Seeing as she was so perfectly laid out and without any form of scratch on her, I deduced that she had not been bitten by a dog, leaving only one, as you would call it, _fantastical_ conclusion. The murderer was a vampire or finds the old legends of such nocturnal creatures fascinating enough to practice their methods."

Holmes calmly fixed the sleeve of his jacket where John had grabbed him and continued walking towards the nearest taxi rank, leaving John standing on the spot, dumbfounded at what he had just heard. Regaining his motor functions, John took off after Holmes, shouting the words 'A _vampire!_' over and over again.

The taxi ride home consisted of Holmes thinking quietly to himself, his hands together, as if in prayer, tucked under his pointed chin and John shaking his head disbelievingly, muttering the word 'vampire' under his breath. When they finally reached 221B Baker Street, Holmes left John behind in the taxi to pay the driver.

"'E don't say much, do 'e?" The driver asked, his cockney accent showing his status as a working class Londoner.

Looking out the window at the tall black haired detective, Watson shook his head.

"Not if he doesn't want to, no."

Having paid the man, John climbed out of the back seat and made his way through the front door of 221B Baker Street, which Holmes had so graciously left ajar for him. Bounding up the stairs, John found Holmes already in his favourite chair, stuffing tobacco into his pipe. The pipe was definitely new for Holmes. He sometimes smoked, even succumbing to the temptation of drugs at times, but the pipe had become the newest addition to the 'many habits of Sherlock Holmes'. It had started with a fan of his asking, outside of the Yard one day, a simple question of why he smoked cigarettes and something more befitting a man of his style and class, like a pipe. Intrigued by the fan's musings, Holmes had returned the next day with a pipe and enough tobacco to last a heavy chain smoker for a year. John had given up trying to convince him to quit after the third day, in which many puffs of smoke had been blown his way by the incorrigible Holmes. Taking his jacket off and throwing it over his own chair, John sat down and studied Holmes' expression. He could usually tell what Holmes was thinking just by looking at his eyebrows. One raised at an angle meant he was waiting for John to say something, an eyebrow raised in an arch meant he was thinking hard about a particularly puzzling aspect of the current case, both eyebrows raised meant that Holmes had surprised even himself with his own brilliance and of course, both eyebrows furrowed meant that he was stumped. This time, it was the furrowed brow that greeted John's eyes.

"Having trouble?" John asked innocently.

Scoffing loudly, Holmes tucked his hands underneath his chin once more, the pipe balancing between his teeth on the right hand side of his mouth. Removing one hand from its pointed roof, he removed the pipe from his mouth, puffed a small ball of smoke out and returned both the pipe and his hand to their original positions. For several minutes, he repeated this action of puffing out smoke and tucking his hand underneath his chin until he finally put down the pipe, clapped both hands together and pushed himself up from the chair.

"Brilliant you've got something!" John noted.

Offering no clarification, Holmes simply put on his long black coat and beckoned for John to follow him.

"Come along John, there's researching to be done!" The great Sherlock Holmes quipped before swinging the door open and striding out.

Shaking his head in disbelief at his close friend's erratic mannerisms, Watson pulled on his own coat before following suit, switching the light off as he left.

_Well here's a rather simple attempt at some Sherlock fan fiction. Firstly, I'd like to say that while this version of Sherlock is based heavily off of the BBC show and indeed the original Holmes, it is not carbon copy. This Holmes will reflect certain aspects of my own experiences and personalities as well as certain expansions and reductions in the showing of some of his more well known characteristics. Also, seeing as the age of Holmes is usually left up to interpretation (I say usually because there is probably some account that I have not found that details his age so forgive me for that) I have placed this particular adventure in Holmes' late thirties. The events with Moriarty have unfolded so no, Holmes will not be falling once again. As for the ridiculous nature of the story, I chose vampires because I have a mild curiosity for them as well as a large fondness for the character of Holmes so I thought I'd bring two interests together in one tale, also there is the whole case of 'The Case of the Sussex Vampire' of which this story should not (I hope) bear too much resemblance. I intend to make this story around 10-15 chapters long but knowing my own mind it will either end up being a lot more than that or a lot less. The next instalment of this story should be up by next Friday evening (Irish time of course) at the latest so if you are somehow entertained by my scribbles then that shall be my deadline for chapter two. Anyways, I hope you enjoyed this first instalment. Do feel free to comment or even PM me with criticism (positive and/or negative) or just general feedback. If convenient, follow and favourite. If inconvenient, follow and favourite all the same. Hoping this story will appeal to many of you and I look forward to writing for you all! ~ An Inconvenient Arrival. _


	2. Chapter 2

**The Vampiric Mystery **

Chapter 2: Delving Deep

As way his way, Holmes refused to release any information on where they were going or why. John had learned long ago to simply tag along and patiently wait to see for himself. To his surprise, the taxi they were in pulled up outside Marylebone Library, a place that Holmes, for all of his vast reserves of intelligence, usually avoided. To John's surprise, Holmes leaned forward with a fifty pound note clutched in his hand and paid the cabby.

"Keep the change. Tell no one that you saw me entering the library."

And with that, the great Sherlock Holmes climbed quickly out of the taxi, turned his collar up and began walking towards the front door of the library, John immediately in tow. Catching up with the brisk pace of the consulting detective, John took one look at the guarded expression of his old friend and knew he was uncomfortable with entering a place that he would regard as containing more information than his own mind (which of course made sense seeing as that is the general idea of libraries). The librarian who greeted them was not your cliché librarian. Rather than her being a grey-haired, elderly, frail individual with glasses and a pointed nose, she looked like she was in her mid to late thirties with slightly pale skin, green eyes and brown hair tied up in a loose ponytail. She did, however, have the short stature of a librarian but still she held herself proudly. When she saw the two men walk through the door, she smiled widely.

"Welcome to Marylebone Library gentlemen. May I assist you with anything in particular?"

Her tone was soft but her accent gave her away.

"You're not from around here are you?" John asked bluntly, silently berating himself as he spoke.

The woman simply smiled and shook her head. Just as she was about to speak, Holmes, as he usually does, cut across her, not even bothering to look at either of them, his eyes instead scanning the rows of shelves around the library.

"I think you'll find that you're wrong there John. Her accent indicates otherwise but from the way she holds herself and indeed her slight rise in tone at the end of each sentence, this woman is a Brit." He resumed his scanning of the library shelves.

The woman looked impressed with Holmes' knowledge of her from so little information and confirmed that she was indeed British. Unfortunately for her, Sherlock Holmes takes confirmation of his own theories as a compliment and thanked her.

"Now on to business. I- We are looking for a book of old legends, preferably to do with vampires and the like. Any suggestions? And do not even consider trying to pawn off Twilight as being about vampires."

John closed his eyes and rubbed the sides of his nose. Once again Sherlock Holmes had portrayed himself as an ignorant prick. To John's surprise however (the day had held many surprises for him already and many more were to be revealed) the woman laughed lightly and beckoned for them to follow her.

"You wouldn't believe how many young girls we get in here, asking for research materials on vampires with Twilight being their only exposure to vampires. I must say, their reactions to _actual _vampires are quite amusing. Many are simply disgusted but we've had our fair share stomping up to the front desk and claiming that our literature is flawed. If you are looking for old legends I would recommend _The Giaour _by Lord Byron. It contains a passage on the eternal damnation of vampires. Also, you might wish to read _The Vampyre _by John William Polidori and of course the classic _Dracula _by Bram Stoker. Outside of that, you will be lucky to find anything that is not erotic tripe or a penny dreadful collection."

She led them to a large bookshelf labelled 'Fiction/Horror' and pointed to a section of red leather-bound books.

"The red-backed books are all to do with vampires and/or werewolves. I'm sure you'll find what you are looking for there. Come and get me if you need further assistance."

John thanked her, not expecting Holmes to do the same. The usually stoic and frigid detective had a small smile tugging at his lips as he shook the librarian's hand in gratitude. John had only ever seen him react in such a way in regards to two other individuals. The first had been Irene Adler, criminal mastermind and the _almost _intellectual equal of Holmes. The other had been at John's wedding to Mary Morstan, where he had developed a fondness for Mary's maid of honour, Janine. Although the _relationship_ had only lasted a short while, Holmes had confessed that he enjoyed her company for its duration. The look he now gave the librarian was very similar to, if not the same look, Holmes had given both aforementioned women upon meeting them. Despite being consistently branded as 'gay', John was definitively straight and, though Mary had passed on a few years prior, he was always happy to see any form of human capabilities shine through in Holmes.

"She seems nice." John said to Holmes, who was watching her walk back to her desk.

"Hmm? Oh, yes I suppose she's alright for a human." Holmes replied, trying to be nonchalant.

"Why do you do that? Why do you refer to other people as 'human'? Do you not realise, Holmes, that you are one of us?" John retorted, getting a little miffed at Holmes' ending statement.

"One of you? Come now John, you know me long enough now to see that I am more akin to the fictional android than a full-blooded human. I've said it countless times. I am a-"

"High-functioning sociopath. Yes I know Holmes. But would it kill you, just once, to associate yourself with other people?"

Holmes looked at him amusedly and John immediately knew what was coming next.

"Don't you dare give me that 'is it benefic-" 

"Would it be beneficial for anyone if I were to _associate _myself with the common folk of this city? Tell me John, if I am as brilliant as these people make me out to be, along with my robotic personality, how can I possibly associate myself with these people?"

John did not know why he said what he did next but he instantly regretted it.

"You didn't mind associating with Adler or Janine now did you? What were they mere experiments in some social test you were carrying out?"

For the first time in a long time, John saw sadness in Holmes' eyes. It wasn't often that something could be said to Holmes that would upset him, but John had hit a weak point in his mental defences.

"Holmes I- I'm sorry."

By this point, Holmes would usually have silenced him and passed it off as nothing. This time however, he staggered backwards slightly, not even bothering to hide it. Seizing him under both arms, John led him over to a nearby bench.

"Sherlock! What's wrong? Are you alright?" The good doctor asked.

"You're right John. I did not mind my _fraternisation _with those women. They did something to me, the both of them. Something my logical brain cannot discern. I'm Sherlock Holmes for the God's sake, I shouldn't be getting butterflies."

John shook his head. "I'm sorry Holmes, we've spoke of this before now. Why in the world are you only reacting like this now?"

Holmes closed his eyes, breathed in deeply and clapped his hands together.

"Never mind that. Come, there's work to be done!"

For the second time that day, John Watson shook his head at his friend's eagerness to forget about his questioning and return to research. Despite the determined look now plastered on Holmes' face, John knew something had happened recently, in which Holmes did not wish to divulge.

'_Bloody hell Holmes, what's wrong with you?' _Watson thought to himself before joining Holmes in his search for the recommended pieces of literature.

_Right, now, I feel I should apologise for this one. I started it off this morning and hit a mental block but not like the usual 'I have no idea of what to write' type block. More like 'I'm not going to have anything more to write so I best get it all down as quick as I can' type block. The next chapter will hopefully be a lot more interesting. As for Holmes' mini-breakdown, fret not. It will be expanded upon as well as his apparent fondness for the librarian. Until next time my friends! ~ An Inconvenient Arrival. _


	3. Chapter 3

**The Vampiric Mystery**

Chapter Three: A Fresh Lead

Watching Sherlock Holmes read a book is a rare pleasure that very few have ever had the pleasure of experiencing. It wasn't that he found it difficult, quite the contrary in fact. He scanned through the pages, locking on to specific words and sentences, furiously making little notes on the memo app on his phone. John couldn't see every word that he took down but he caught glimpses of words such as _demon, fangs, blood thirst, hunters _and _nocturnal_. To the casual observer, Holmes may have appeared as a man who knew absolutely nothing of vampires. John knew different. He knew Holmes was using these words as keywords to further thoughts. When he had at last put the last book down, he locked his phone, pocketed it and strode out of the aisle of books.

"So?" Watson ventured, hoping Sherlock would elaborate on some information, though he didn't expect much.

"Well it's obviously not a crazed fanatic at the least. The bite marks were _too _precise for it to be the work of anyone without past experience in these things. Even the most devout fan of a work of art cannot replicate it perfectly. Plus, the canine teeth of humans are usually curved slightly whereas those of _real _vampires are defined clearly as perfectly tapered. A human tooth would have left slight tear marks on the surrounding skin rather than precise pin holes. All of this can of course be disputed by someone willing to say 'but he could have sharpened his teeth' or 'he could have used a weapon that was reminiscent of vampire teeth'. Sadly, these people would be wrong, otherwise the killer would be rather easy to find. No, this was definitely performed with perfectly tapered teeth, a shape impossible to recreate individually and, even with the help of the most skilled dentist/sculptor one would find it impossible to taper one's teeth to such a fine point."

At this stage, they had reached the front desk but the librarian was nowhere to be seen. This didn't stop Sherlock's tirade of commentary however and John could tell that he was just getting to the good bits.

"Now, if we were to assume that we are dealing with a seemingly fictional, nocturnal hunter here, the best time to catch him would be when John?"

Not prepared for a question and answer section to Holmes' ideas (although perhaps he should have been seeing as they frequently occurred) John could only stammer two little words.

"A- At night?"

He immediately knew he was wrong because Holmes chuckled deeply before returning to a straight face.

"No. During the day John. If we are indeed dealing with a vampire, however unlikely the situation appears to be, we must be wary. I have never put much stock in _fairytales _or legends but it appears that we have no other choice but to follow through on this lead. Now, according to several sources, vampires are at their most powerful when the sun goes down. So, if we want to find and catch this creature, we must exercise caution. During the day is our best bet to contain the threat and extrapolate the victimiser. The only problem is, we only have one simple murder victim with little bite marks on her neck to go on as a lead. None of the sources I read there gave solid information on the general _hangouts _of vampires. So we shall have to wait for the next victim to arise and, if needs be, await another after that to try and get a sense of any themes or similarities."

Watson was shocked at Holmes' words.

"You're kidding right? Please tell me you are kidding! We can't just let people _die _so that we can catch this bastard! That's the whole reason that we get called in to help, so as few as possible get harmed!"

"I know John. But circumstances dictate that we must at least await another attack. Otherwise we are walking blind."

Watson was having none of it.

"You're Sherlock Holmes! Solve it for the love of God!"

"I CAN'T SOLVE THAT WHICH I DO NOT FULLY COMPREHEND JOHN!" Sherlock roared, his deep voice raised and resonating throughout the library.

From somewhere in the back of the library, the two men heard a harsh 'shh' sound, ordering them to keep it quiet. From behind one of the shelves emerged the short librarian with a stern look on her face. Briskly walking over to them, she spoke in a hushed tone.

"_What in the name of God are you shouting about? This is a library!"_

Watson began to apologise but was beaten to it by Holmes.

"Sincerest apologies dear librarian. We were just leaving, come John."

Shaking the librarian's hand once more, Holmes turned on his heel and strode out the door.

"I'm going to strangle that bastard!" Watson muttered, before thanking the librarian again and following Holmes out the door.

Looking around, he found Holmes crossing the road to a small coffee shop where he sat down at one of the outside tables. Mumbling to himself, Watson quickly made his way over, nearly getting hit by a car trying to catch the lights in the process. Sitting down, he opened his mouth to give Holmes a good bollocking, only to have his friend silence him with a raised hand.

"Don't! I'm thinking. Don't interrupt my thinking."

It took all of his resolve to not punch Holmes in the nose and start yelling at him but Watson restrained himself. He sat in silence while Holmes took another trip to his 'mind palace'. His hands were positioned on either side of his head, not quite touching the temples and he was swishing them to his right, as if grabbing a file, seeing it was wrong and casting it to the side. Leaning back in his chair, John called the waitress over and ordered a coffee. She was just about to ask Holmes if he would like to order anything when his eyes flew open and he shot to his feet.

"Of course! Stupid, stupid, stupid!" Holmes exclaimed, pulling his phone from his pocket and walking away from the coffee shop.

Huffing loudly, Watson cancelled his order and followed suit. When he finally caught up to Sherlock, he was on the phone to who Watson could only guess was Lestrade.

"Yes Lestrade, the girl from the other night. I need you to check her for bloating. When? _Now _you moron! Why else would I be calling you right now if I didn't want it for now? I'm on my way over to Bart's, be sure to have the results ready for me when I get there!"

Hanging up, Holmes took one quick look at John before quickening his pace slightly.

"I can't believe that we think we're dealing with a vampire and we forgot to check the girl for bloating! Honestly, even Lestrade would have thought of that and he's an idiot at the best of times!"

Seeing the general idea of checking the girl for bloating, Watson phrased his next question carefully.

"What are you expecting to find from her bloating? Surely it will only confirm your suspicions right?"

"No John. Not only confirm my suspicions. If the girl has bloated substantially then we know she has a healthy diet, leading us to believe that the vampire is picky in his victim choice. However, if she has minimal bloating then the vampire is _not _picky over his victims, showing a possible hunger or blood-thirst in him that he cannot fully sate. If this is the case, then he will be likely to strike within the next few days rather than wait for the next time that he need feed himself."

Holmes appeared fairly pleased with himself, a wide grin plastered across his face as he hailed a taxi and climbed in.

"Come John. Our first real lead awaits us!"

Shaking his head at his old friend's dramatics, Watson got into the taxi and asked the cabbie to take them to St. Bart's Hospital.

"'Ere, aren't you that famous police lad? Mr. Holmes is it?"

Holmes looked positively disgusted with the cabbie's words.

"'_Famous police lad'_? I've never been so insulted. No sir, I am not a _'famous police lad'_. I am a consulting detective, previously the only one of its kind though I imagine that my rise to fame has inspired those of considerable intelligence to take up the mantle in their own areas. But to answer you question sir, yes I am Mr. Holmes but no I am not to be affiliated with those buffoons, especially the ones at Scotland Yard."

"I didn't mean no offence sir! I was-"

"Use of a double negative, however benign your verbal intentions may have been, says that you _did _mean offence. The correct sentence you should have used was-"

"_Holmes!_" Watson interjected harshly. "He didn't mean it, alright? No need to be such an arsehole."

Holmes leaned in close to Watson, his tone lowered to a murmur.

"Well he shouldn't have associated me with those idiots. Honestly how these people function is remarkable."

Watson was about to reprimand him when the cabbie called back again.

"I expect that you're off solving another case then sir?"

Giving John a look that basically said _'this man is an imbecile'_, Holmes answered the unfortunately slow-witted cabbie.

"Yes sir I am on a case. Now I would very much appreciate it if the remainder of this journey could be carried out in silence. I require a quiet atmosphere to think."

The cabbie (thankfully) said nothing but merely raised his hand in acknowledgement. For the remaining ten or so minutes of the cab journey, Holmes sat up straight, his eyes closed and his hands miming playing the violin, something he often did when he needed to think. When they finally arrived at Bart's Hospital, Holmes bolted out the door of the cab.

"There's a fifty on my seat John! Pay the man!" He shouted over his shoulder as he quickened his step towards the hospital.

Watson handed the driver the fifty note and told him to keep the change.

"Thank you very much sir! And good luck with catching that vampire of yours!"

Watson nodded, still slightly pissed at Sherlock's behaviour. It wasn't until he was halfway to the door of Bart's Hospital that he fully registered what had been said by the cabbie.

"_Hang on! _How did you kn-" Watson exclaimed, spinning around to confront the cabbie, only to find that he had taken off down the road at a great speed.

'_As if we didn't have enough to worry about.' _Watson thought to himself, turning around and following Sherlock into Bart's.

_Chapter Three as promised. As was the tradition with the last two chapters, I have something I'd like to apologise for/explain. In the last chapter, I wrote that Sherlock had only ever felt strongly about two other women. Irene Adler and Janine, the Irish girl from the BBC show with whom he entered a relationship to get close to Magnusson. Despite his overall intentions, it was shown as a moment of significant weakness in Holmes' character when he first met Janine. Whatever his intentions were, it was evident to me that he did (at least briefly) have some feelings for Janine. That is why I mentioned her as one of the only women who Holmes had ever felt 'romantic' feelings for. I realise I may be nit-picking my own story and assuming that at least one reader was a little miffed at seeing her name down there but I'm being safe with this apology. Other than that, there's not much to say other than I hope you enjoyed this chapter (as mundane as it was) and that the semi cliff-hanger that I threw in there at the end doesn't piss you all off too much. Thank you all for reading. Until next time my friends! ~ An Inconvenient Arrival_


	4. Chapter 4

**The Vampiric Mystery **

Chapter Four: Death Threats

Watson had seen many dead bodies. As he had put it when he first met Sherlock, he had seen enough to _'last a lifetime'_. Around Holmes, dead bodies were a regular sight and John had built a wall against the instinctive nausea that accompanied the sight of a dead body. This body was different however. The girl was only dead a little more than twenty-four hours but her skin had turned a strange blue shade. It was as if she had suffered from hypothermia before her death but Watson knew that, although she was pale, she had been a healthy enough colour when they had examined her earlier. Chances were that he was overlooking the simple fact that she had just been removed from her cold chamber but when tilted her head to examine the bite marks, the girl was somehow still warm.

"What in the name of God has happened to this body?" Watson exclaimed upon seeing the condition of the deceased girl.

Lestrade held his hands up as if fending off an attack.

"Don't bloody ask me! She was that way when we took her out. Blue as bloody sapphire when we took her out but you'd think she was sleeping by the feel of her. Even Molly is confused as to what's happening. That's not even the half of it though Doctor Watson. Watch this."

Lestrade gave a signal for one of the attending morticians to hover the crucifix chain over the girl, not quite touching her. For a moment, neither John nor Holmes saw what effect it had had but then the girl's right eye unmistakably twitched.

"BLOODY HELL SHE'S STILL ALIVE!" Watson exclaimed, jumping back a few feet.

"Don't be ridiculous John" Holmes chided "there's obviously a good explanation for that happening. It's just a shame that I haven't come up with it yet."

Holmes tucked his clasped hands under his chin once again and began pacing around the morgue. Watson couldn't shake the image of the girl's eye twitching from his mind. There had been accounts of eyes twitching or mouths opening and closing shortly after death but never more than an hour afterwards. The good doctor couldn't think clearly and he began to feel as if he were about to throw up.

"GOT IT!" Holmes cried out, his voice echoing through the morgue. "I must be feeling sick or something, that's twice the obvious option has eluded me."

Lestrade looked quizzically at John who simply shrugged. The 'obvious' option that Sherlock frequently referred to was usually one of the most obscure pieces of information that could be collected from a crime scene.

"It's paralysis. This girl isn't dead, she's paralysed. My god how could I have forgotten that?" He said, smacking himself on the head.

For the umpteenth time that day, Watson was shocked.

"_Paralysed?" _He hissed, not sure if he had correctly. "Holmes are you telling me that this woman is still alive?"

"Is that not what I just said? Did I not just say that? I think I just said that." Holmes said, looking around as if asking for confirmation from anyone. "Yes she's alive. The vampire clearly didn't kill her-"

Watson knew there was more but Lestrade cut across the great detective.

"Hang on! Did you just say vampire? What the hell have you been smoking Holmes? A vampire in London?"

"Look at the marks on her neck Lestrade. At first I didn't believe it myself, but after some research I was left with no doubt in my mind that the perpetrator was a vampire. Not only that but judging from the girl's general appearance, he's a vampire with refined taste. This girl is in the prime of her health. Or at least she looks like she is. She could be a raging alcoholic or drug addict or sex-crazed she-demon, the point is that his next victim will tell us just what his preferred _main course_ is when feeding."

Watson would have laughed out loud at Lestrade's expression had it not been for the fact that they were in a morgue with an animate body. Lestrade had a mixture of disbelief and fear on his face, an expression that Watson had seen multiple times on multiple people. However he couldn't fault the reaction as he was fairly sure that he had reacted similarly when Holmes had proposed his theory to him mere hours ago. By all accounts, if Lestrade had nodded along and instantly believed Sherlock, Watson would have been shocked. However, it was such a ludicrous claim that both Watson and Lestrade knew that it had to be true. All Holmes really needed was the smallest of leads to go. Seconds later, he'd have it. Everyone, excluding Holmes of course, jumped out of their skin as a distorted, snake-like hiss came from the paralysed girl's lips. Her body began convulsing and her mouth began opening and closing as if she were trying to form words. When she finally spoke, her voice was raspy and low, almost like a reprimanding whisper that one would hear a mother use in Sunday Mass when her young child was climbing on the pew.

"_Give up Mr. Holmes! Lord Mircea is awakening and his thirst for blood knows no bounds! Yes, I can see it now. You will die, wallowing in your own blood and the blood of your friends. Death is all you have to look forward to! HE WILL RISE AGAIN!" _

By the time she was finished speaking, Lestrade had drawn his pistol and was aiming it at the point in between the girl's eyes. To John's surprise, Holmes was grinning broadly, his eyes wild with delight.

"Lestrade put down the gun!" Watson cried, fearing for the young girl's life. "Holmes what could you possibly be happy about after hearing _that_?"

"Simple John. We now know a lot more than we previously had known. For instance, we know that I am a prime target for this _Lord Mircea_. We also know that he will be targeting anyone who is close to me. So as long as we keep everyone we care for close by or thereabouts, we should be able to find this thing before anyone can get hurt. Of course there is always the option-"

Sherlock was cut off again by the 'paralysed' girl. This time however, she did not speak. Instead, she leapt to her feet, assumed a traditional hunter's crouch and pounced at the nearest one to her: Molly Hooper.

"NO!" Sherlock bellowed, his deep voice resonating through the morgue, sending chills down John's spine. He had never before heard such distress in the voice of the consulting detective. Although he clearly had no romantic feelings towards Molly Hooper (and she had certainly accepted that fact long ago, her husband Keith was testament to that), he did in fact see her as a very close personal friend. She was one of the only people that he trusted with his plan when Moriarty forced him to jump off of the Reichenbach building.

"_Were you not warned Holmes?" _The hissing voice came once more. _"Did I not just tell you that we would strike at those closest to you? Did you think we would give you time to collect yourself? No Mr. Holmes. Mircea demands blood!" _

With those words, the pale young girl wrenched Molly's head to the side and sunk her teeth, which Sherlock only now noticed perfectly matched the description of a vampire's tapered teeth, into Molly Hooper's neck. Almost immediately the colour drained from her face and she opened her mouth, as if to scream, but no sound came.

"GET OFF OF HER!" Holmes roared, the only one reacting to what was happening. Lunging forward, he seized the young girl by the neck and wrenched her off of Molly. He watched in horror as large amounts of blood sprayed from the wound on Molly's neck, droplets landing on the ground. Diving to his side, Sherlock caught Molly's body and held her close. Everything else suddenly became insignificant as he clutched the dying body of his old friend. He wasn't sure, but he thought he heard a body hit the wall nearby. It mattered not however. Molly Hooper was dying. He wasn't sure if anything would ever again. He felt tears roll down his cheeks and his lips quiver as he gazed down at her. Looking up at him with fading eyes, a pained smile tugged at Molly's lips. Pulling him close, she whispered the last words Holmes would ever hear her speak.

_"Catch me a vampire Sherlock Holmes." _

With that, she exhaled once more and went limp in Sherlock's arms.

Watson watched on grievously as his best friend sobbed uncontrollably, holding the body of Molly Hooper close to his own. It was one of the few times he had seen tears in Sherlock's eyes. Never before had John witnessed such sadness in anyone, even himself when he thought Sherlock had died. John was sure that even Mycroft would have felt something upon seeing his younger brother in this state. What happened next would have shattered the heart of anyone who witnessed it. Holmes gently lowered the body of Molly Hooper to the ground and clenched his fists, his hands shaking.

"I will see you suffer for this Mircea." He said his voice unusually calm. "If I have to give my own life to see it through, you will suffer. DO YOU HEAR ME MIRCEA?! YOU ARE GOING TO KNOW PAIN THAT YOU COULD NOT EVEN DREAM OF EXPERIENCING! I SHALL SEE TO IT THAT YOU BEG FOR DEATH BEFORE I AM FINISHED WITH YOU!"

Only once had John seen Sherlock even remotely this angry. In fact, he hadn't even been around to see it. He had thrown an American agent out of the window of 221B Baker Street for harming Mrs. Hudson. What was scary about this promise of Sherlock's was John knew he was deadly serious. Holmes would not stop until the Mircea character was writhing in agony at his feet, begging for death. He knew that nothing would ever or could ever stop Sherlock Holmes when he was driven by vengeance.

'_Never thought I'd say this' _John thought to himself _'but god help Lord Mircea. Because he has just pissed off Sherlock Holmes.' _

_So! Molly Hooper is now dead. Yes it's a shame but honestly you can't possibly say you did not see it coming after reading my summary. Holmes is now hell bent on seeing Mircea suffer and you can be assured that he will do his best to see it through. Until next time my friends! ~ An Inconvenient Arrival_


End file.
